The Grandview Hotel's conference room sparkled under crystal chandeliers—marble floors shone, burgundy velvet draped the walls, a long oak table stretched down the middle. The meeting kicked off at 9 a.m., crisp and sharp, but now, evening settling in, the air hung heavy with exhaustion. Ethan Nicolas stood at the head, dark hair messy over sharp green eyes, his trouble-making grin still sharp despite the long day. He wore a dark blazer over his white shirt and black jeans, briefing the team on WolfSnap's latest push. Last night's full moon lingered—his werewolf blood simmering beneath.
Ava Francis slouched across from him, dark hair loose and messy from hours of notes, freckles stark in the soft light. Her eyes ached—nine hours of charts and talk drained her. Claire fidgeted beside her, blonde hair messy, still raw from her boyfriend's breakup text—Ethan's secret work. Jake leaned against the wall near Ethan, tall and quiet in his dark hoodie, sharp eyes scanning the room. Tara lounged close to Ethan, tossing flirty smiles, fingers tapping the table slow. Ava caught it—same vibe from the club, Tara orbiting him tight.
"Numbers are up," Ethan said, voice smooth, wrapping it up. "Good work—keep it rolling." His green eyes flicked to Tara, glinting.
Claire yawned, rubbing her temples. "Finally—my brain's mush. Can we call it?"
"Yeah," Ava muttered, stretching. "Been here since breakfast—my back's screaming."
Jake smirked, arms crossed. "Rough one, huh?" His voice was low, eyes darting to Ethan.
Tara grinned, leaning back. "Worth it for the view," she said, winking at Ethan. He chuckled, unfazed.
"Long day," Ethan said, nodding. "Claire, Ava, Jake—see you tomorrow. Tara, stick around—design tweak talk."
Claire bolted up, muttering, "Night—need sleep," and shuffled out, shaken. Ava lingered, packing slow, her gut nudging—Ethan's "tweak talk" felt flimsy after a marathon day. Jake gave Ethan a quick nod, sharp eyes lingering on Tara, then slipped out. Tara stayed, leaning closer, giggling low. Ava's brow furrowed—flirt, she thought, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Night," she said, voice flat, heading out. Ethan's grin trailed her, but she didn't turn.
Outside, the night air bit cold, city lights buzzing. Ava's phone had buzzed earlier—Greg, mid-afternoon. "Club wild, huh?" he'd said, chuckling. "Ethan trouble yet?" She'd smirked: "Getting there." Now, Tara's giggle replayed—Ethan was trouble, no question.
Upstairs, Ethan led Tara to Room 512, a luxe suite dripping in seduction—plush velvet curtains in midnight blue framed tall windows, a king bed sprawled with silky black sheets, their sheen catching the low amber glow of a brass lamp. The walls shimmered with textured gold wallpaper, warm and heavy, the air thick with musk—sandalwood, maybe sin. Tara kicked off her heels, her laugh husky as she tugged Ethan's tie. "Finally alone," she purred, lips brushing his ear.
He smirked, hands sliding to her waist, pulling her tight. "You've been begging for it," he growled, kissing her hard—heat flared, her fingers clawing his shirt open. Buttons popped, fabric hit the floor, and he pressed her against the bedpost, wood cool against her back. Her breath hitched as his lips trailed her neck, hands roaming under her skirt—silk sheets rustled as they tumbled, her legs hooking his hips. "God, Ethan," she gasped, nails digging in, "you're so much wilder than my husband—pathetic limp he is!" She moaned louder, the room's lush texture—velvet soft, silk slick, gold glinting—wrapping their lust as he grinned, driving harder.
Ava hit the street, halfway home, when WolfSnap erupted—violent, uncontrollable growls, sharp and jagged, rattling her phone like a beast clawing out. "What the hell?" she muttered, fumbling it. She dialed Ethan—switched off.* Her pulse spiked—those growls weren't normal, not after a day like this. She spun back, sprinting toward the hotel, Tara's giggle and Ethan's grin flashing in her mind.
Back in Room 512, Ethan pinned Tara beneath him, her hair splayed on the silk, sweat beading as he moved—intense, raw, every thrust a release of the moon's pull. She arched, crying out, "Yes—better than that deadbeat ever was!"—the bed creaking under their rhythm, velvet curtains swaying with their heat. His phone stayed dark on the nightstand, WolfSnap silent in his haze, her praise fueling his fire.
Ava burst into the Grandview lobby, breathless, hair wild. "Ethan Nicolas—room number?" she snapped at the receptionist, a stern woman with a tight bun. "Urgent—work."
"Room 512," the woman said, eyeing her. "Fifth floor." Ava bolted up, stairs echoing, WolfSnap still snarling in her pocket—louder, wilder. She hit the door, pounding hard. "Ethan! Open up—it's Ava!"
Inside, Tara froze mid-moan, Ethan's head snapping up, sweat dripping. "Damn it," he growled, rolling off, grabbing his pants. Tara pouted, pulling the sheet over her chest. "Who's that?"
"Work," he muttered, stalking to the door, shirtless, jeans low. He cracked it—Ava stood there, eyes wide, taking in his disheveled state, Tara's silhouette on the bed. Her jaw tightened—flirt wasn't the half of it.
"WolfSnap's freaking out," she said, voice sharp, holding up her phone—growls blared. "What's this?"
Ethan forced a grin, chest heaving. "Tech glitch—chill." A shadow flickered past the window—yellow eyes, gone fast. His claws itched, but Ava didn't see, glaring at him, Tara, the room's heat.
"Glitch, my ass," she snapped, storming off. Ethan's grin faded—the growl outside echoed. Ava was onto something, and the night was far from over.
To be continued...
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